


Belleau Wood

by suchanadorer



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas fic, M/M, Prompt Fill, SRS 2012, World War I
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-30
Updated: 2012-11-30
Packaged: 2017-11-19 22:31:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/578321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suchanadorer/pseuds/suchanadorer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><a href="http://srs2012.dreamwidth.org/4895.html?thread=153887#cmt153887">Prompt at SRS:</a> <i>It's Christmas day, 1914. Michael is a British soldier, Lucifer German. A truce comes about in the form of a football game.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Belleau Wood

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize in advance for my Google Translate German. If it needs correcting, don't hesitate to let me know.

Michael nestles down further into his jacket, pulling his helmet down down over his brow until there’s nothing but a nose and a cigarette poking out between them. He stuffs his hands under the arms of his coat and sniffs.

“It’s too fucking quiet,” he grumbles, and Gabriel sighs, leaning forward to light his cigarette off the glowing tip of Michael’s own.

“It’s Christmas, Mike. No fighting on Christmas.”

“It’s not like this is any different. They can’t send us home. We can’t talk, we can’t move around. We have to stay down here in case one of them cheats, and they’re doing the same thing on that side.”

He stands and stretches, slinging his rifle over his shoulder and stepping over Gabriel’s legs to the ladder. He climbs the first two steps and peeks out over the top of the trench.

The ground is ruined and pock-marked between the trenches, evened out only by the layer of new fallen snow. Through the falling flakes, Michael can just make out the ridge on the other side that marks the German trench.

The snow swirls, and for a moment Michael thinks he sees blue eyes lit in the glow of a tiny flame. Someone is lighting a cigarette.

He drops back down into the frozen muck that lines the trench and leans against the far wall, pulling in deep breaths through his nose as adrenaline washes through him. Being seen by a German soldier is as good as death.

“ _Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht..._ ”

Michael’s eyes cut to the side, and he sees how Gabriel’s brow disappears up under his helmet as his eyes widen in surprise.

“Is someone singing?” Comes a shout from farther down the trench.

“It’s ain’t us! It’s German!” Gabriel bellows back. Michael glares at him, but he just shrugs.

The song continues, sung shakily in an untrained tenor voice. The soldiers around them shift uncomfortably, unsure how to deal with such an overture. Most of them choose to ignore it, but Michael looks back towards the ladder. He already mouthing the words.

The first verse comes to an end. Michael and Gabriel exchange a glance, and Michael steps towards the ladder again.

“No, Mike! No!” Gabriel hisses angrily. He starts to stand to stop him, but his legs are stiff with cold and he topples forward on his knees.

“Gimme your cigarettes,” Michael says, stretching out his gloved hand. “I’m all out.”

He motions with his hand, and Gabriel fixes him with a wicked look out of the corner of his eye, but he fishes out a half-crumpled pack of cigarettes all the same.

“Silent night, holy night! Shepherds quake at the sight...”

“The CO’s gonna kill you if they don’t,” Gabriel says, but there’s something akin to wonder in his voice as he watches Michael climb the ladder again.

Michael pokes his head up above the edge of the trench. This time he can clearly see a face through the snowfall. The soldier’s face lights up when he sees Michael. He pulls his helmet off and nods, and reluctantly Michael does the same.

The blue-eyed soldier disappears, and Michael’s voice falters. Then he pops up again, this time holding a brown ball a bit bigger than his head. He smiles and nods towards Michael and tosses the ball out onto the strip of battlefield between their trenches. The ground was too frozen to put any mines, so it's just a stretch of hard earth between them.

They watch each other as they climb, both wary despite reassurances that the truce was mutual. It was still unofficial, and Michael was clearly marked as a first lieutenant. If misunderstood, this action could be start of more bloody fighting.

They stand at the edge of their trenches, and it’s Michael’s turn for a goodwill gesture. He slides his rifle down off his shoulder and crouches to set it on the ground before carefully stepping over the roll of barbed wire that is their last line of protection. The German soldier looks back over his shoulder and mumbles something indecipherable. There is a cheer from the German trench and hands appear to take the soldier’s rifle.

Michael laughs, and Gabriel demands to know what’s happened.

“It’s okay, Gabe. We’re just gonna play some football.”

Michael steps out onto the snowy ground and the stranger watches him. They keep their distance from each other as Michael circles away from the ball, his eyes never leaving the soldier’s worn, unshaven face. The insignia on his grey uniform marks him as a _Hauptmann,_ a Captain.

“ _Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht,_ ” the German begins again, kicking the ball lightly so that it rolls to a stop by Michael’s feet.

“I don’t speak German,” Michael protests, but the soldier only grins and continues singing, motioning and nodding for Michael to join him.

So he does.

“Darkness flies and all is light...”

He kicks the ball back and the game is on. No one really tries to win. The ball rolls into one trench only to appear a moment later, lofted into the air by the other soldiers. Slowly, faces appear to watch the impromptu game, cheering and swearing in equal measure. No one makes any move to stop them, and several more even begin to sing.

They play until the ground between them turns to slush and mud from their feet. The German tries to kick and misses. His foot slides in the slurry and he falls to one knee. Michael rushes forward to help him.

“You okay?” He asks, reaching out to take the man by the elbow and help him to his feet.

The German’s mouth falls open and his eyes shine in silent gratitude. He searches Michael’s face, but Michael just smiles and pats him on the arm.

“It’s Christmas,” he says with a cock of his head.

“ _Weihnachten_ ,” The German says, nodding and gesturing towards the overcast night sky.

He points at Michael and smiles. “ _Du siehst aus wie mein Bruder._ ” He swallows and looks away, and Michael can see tears at the corners of his eyes.

Michael shakes his head, upset at not being able to understand. “I’m sorry,” he pleads. “I don’t-”

“He says you look like his brother.” There is another soldier standing at the edge of the German trench now. He must have started up when his comrade fell in the snow.

Michael grabs the German’s hand and shakes it. “Michael,” he offers, pressing a hand to his own chest to show that he means his name.

The German breathes in a sob and smiles. “Luke,” he says, mimicking Michael’s gesture, his hand over his heart.

Other soldiers have started to come out onto the field. Through sign language and a few simple words, they set up teams. Michael and Luke face off against each other, and both of them are grinning.

The men shout and whoop, cheering for their teams. They try other carols. Someone in the German trench has a well-trained baritone that carries out into the night, and when Gabriel tries his hand at O Holy Night, everyone stops to listen.

Their game is cut short by the bark of a German machine gun that cuts through the snowy darkness. Suddenly it’s chaos as men dive for their trenches again. Superior officers shout orders, and soon the light of gunfire can be seen as well as heard in the forest.

Luke’s eyes find Michael’s as they are jostled and pulled back towards their trenches. They salute each other, and Luke tosses him the ball. “ _Mein Bruder,_ ” he says, placing his hand over his heart and bowing his head before disappearing down into his trench.

Michael picks up his rifle and looks back one last time.

“Wait!” He cries, slipping and sliding as he rushes across the field.

Luke turns. Michel fishes the pack of cigarettes out of his coat and presses it into the palm of Luke’s hand. “I hope you live to see your brother again, my friend,” he says. He’s not sure, but he thinks Luke understands. He nods once and walks away, dropping down into the trench and taking his place beside Gabriel again.

No one has the heart to fire first, and for them it takes a long time for the battle to begin again.


End file.
